


In Case You Were Wondering

by n00dl3Gal



Series: Their Words [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I'm so original, M/M, Real world, Songs, product placement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n00dl3Gal/pseuds/n00dl3Gal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of how my best friend changed my crappy, boring, normal life into something sweet.</p><p>...you know, just in case you were wondering.</p><p>OR: Another high school AU</p><p>ON HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seek It Out

**Author's Note:**

> Lately, I've been/ I've been loosing sleep/ Dreaming 'bout the things that we could be
> 
> \- "Counting Stars," OneRepublic

I curl my fists and cover my ears. I don’t want to get up on the best of days, and today is the absolute worst. Groaning, I roll onto my stomach.

Mom walks in and shuts off my alarm. “Come on, Eren.” I make a strangled sound. “I know you hate today, but it’s only 24 hours. You’ll make it. Besides, you have practice after school. You miss anymore and the head coach is going to have a few choice words with you about your placement for the rest of the season.” I stick my hand out from my blanket and try to cover her mouth. She swats it away. “Do you not want any pancakes then?”

The promise of syrupy food is too much to resist. “Ugh… fine,” I sigh, sitting up. I cross the second-floor hallway and flick on the bathroom light. Dreading what the day will bring, I start the shower.

. . .

I turn to face my adoptive sister. “If I ditch, will you tell Mom?”

Her mouth is obscured by her infamous scarf, but I know Mikasa is frowning. “No, but Heichou will. Goodbye, Eren. See you at home.” She walks into the school, double doors slamming in her wake. Goody two shoes. I huff and follow her. It takes less than a minute before I’m assaulted. 

“Here, Eren!” It’s some freshman, amber ponytail bouncing, heart earrings twirling. A piece of glittery pink construction paper is thrusted upon me. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” she giggles, before dashing back to her friends. 

I look at the card. It could barely pass for a third grader. I crumple it and shove it in my backpack.

And so begins the Valentine’s Day for a popular, closeted, high school athlete.

. . .

By third period, I’ve gotten four more confessions. I collapse into my desk, eyeballing the lone Valentine at Connie’s spot. “Sasha?” I ask.

He nods, rubbing his shaved head bashfully. “Dude,” he gushes, “it’s OFFICIAL. She wants the Con-man.”

“Don’t call yourself that. It makes you sound like some sort of crook.” I open my notebook and start to doodle. The classroom buzzes with romantic electricity, but goes still as the door opens. 

Dr. Zoe stands in front of the whiteboard. “Alright gang, this is Biology, the study of life, and today is the day of love… so let’s cover asexual and sexual reproduction!” They clap their hands with far too much enthusiasm. 

I rub my forehead, right over a bump- a sign a zit is coming. I moan. It keeps getting better.

. . . 

The cafeteria is a war zone. Bouquets have exploded into the hands of boyfriends everywhere, leaving shrapnel of red and white petals in their wake. Dangling Cupids keep up the aerial assault of romance arrows. Even the chemical warfare- aka “food”- is in theme, with a pinkish tinge to the entrée.

Not very appealing in grilled cheese. 

I slam my tray down and resist the urge to hide in my fries. A line’s begun to form behind my table. Jean beams. “Step right up, ladies.”

In the end, he gets at least five less cards than me. Ever the dramatic, he sobs into Marco’s shoulder with (fake) heaving sobs. The freckled boy comforts him awkwardly. “There, there…” 

“Why don’t they love me?” Jean cries. Marco looks at me with one eyebrow raised. 

I roll my eyes. “Look in a mirror, horseface.” 

“Getting a lot of valentines?” a small voice asks from my left. I turn to find a comforting and all-too-welcome smile peering behind a pile of AP textbooks. 

I loosen my shoulders. “Yeah. How about you Armin?”

Blushing, he answers with a squeak, “y-yes.”

“God Armin, I’ve known you since we were seven and you’re still as adorable as ever,” I laugh. 

“R-really?” He’s as red as the glitter falling into his fruit cup. 

I punch his shoulder lightly, careful not to knock him over. “Just joking, bud.”

Except I’m not. He IS adorable. But he’s also my best friend. And I can’t explain why that makes me feel-

“Yo Jaeger! Your smoking sister give you anything to give me?”

I glare at Jean. “Yeah. This.” I flip him the bird. Marco chuckles, Jean grimaces, and Armin gasps. 

I try to ignore that day’s barely half over.

. . .

I yank off my cleats after a grueling indoor practice. Apparently there is one person who hates Valentine’s Day more than me, and its coach Levi Heichou. I just wish he didn’t take his hatred out on the soccer team.

When I hear the door to the locker room open, I freeze. Everyone else has left; I had to run extra laps since Jean ratted on me for my stunt at lunch. I see a flash of blonde and I’m expecting it to be some perverted fangirl when-

“E-eren?” A trembling figure approaches me. 

I blink. “Armin? What are you doing-“ Something cardboard is forced into my sweaty grip and my friend runs away. “Hey! Where are you going?” But he’s gone. God, for such a nerd he sure is fast.

I look at what he’s given me. It’s thick and red, with a Post-It on top.

Eren-  
To my best friend. I know this is not mutual, but for the past several years… I’m sorry for what I thought.  
Armin. 

Underneath the note, the words “HERSHEY’S POT OF GOLD” is embossed on a heart. 

Armin has given me chocolate.

Armin Arlert, my best friend, has given me a Valentine.

. . .

I hold the box of candy in my lap, staring at them silently. Mom walks in and crouches next to my bed, not noticing me stuffing the note in my pocket (or at least not commenting). “Is something wrong, sweetie?”

I sigh and lean against the wall. “I dunno, Mom. Someone at school gave me these and… I’m not sure how I feel.” 

She rubs my shoulder, smiling and patient. “Well, first of all, do you like them?”

My eyebrows raise when she says “them,” but I stay quiet. “I do. A lot. But not in the same way, I don’t think. I hate romance.”

“It’ll get easier after puberty,” she laughs. “Aside from that, all I can tell you kiddo is that it wouldn’t be fair to stay silent forever. You’ll need to give them an answer. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” She kisses my head and leaves. Mikasa comes in less than a second afterwards. 

“It’s Armin.” Not a question, not a thought, a direct statement. I gulp. She knows. She always knows, somehow. I nod. “You like him, Eren.” 

I sputter out “what the hell are you talking about?” My fists make the cardboard wrinkle. 

She shrugs, scarf flopping off her shoulder. “It’s obvious. You don’t like him as much as he likes you, but you do. I know.” 

I bury my face in my lap. “Out,” I dictate, pointing to the door. I hear footsteps and a click. 

Mikasa can’t be right. Yeah, sure, Armin’s my best friend and I do care about him but- but- maybe she’s onto something. I mean, I was thinking it at lunch before Jean interrupted. Armin being my best friend makes me feel-

Empty. Like one of the chocolates that Armin gave me that was supposed to have caramel inside but somehow didn’t. Like the boxes on display at GameStop. Like one of Mom’s china dolls and I only now they’re hollow cuz I broke one when I was five. Because that’s all there is and there’s never going to be anymore. And that more is what I crave desperately. 

And now, finally, more is an option. I pull out my cell phone and text Armin. We need 2 talk. 

An automated reply comes back. Sorry not at phone busy with homework! Bullcrap. Armin never has homework, he always finishes in class. I try calling his house phone. “Hello? Armin?”

“Eren, my boy, is that you?” replies a peppy, elderly voice. 

I curse under my breath. “Hi, Mr. Arlert. May I speak to Armin?”

Armin’s grandfather sighs. “I don’t believe so, Eren. After dinner, Armin holed himself up in his room and asked me to leave him alone for the rest of the evening. Apparently one of his Valentines wasn’t well received. Do you happen to know anything about that?”

I’m grateful we’re on the phone so he can’t see me fidget. “No, sir. I’m sorry. Have a good night.”

“Take care, son.” The line goes dead. Crap, it’s worse than I thought. But something seems off. Armin never spends time in his room, only goes up there to sleep. He’s either at the library- which is closed by now- or-

I pull on my sneakers and race down the stairs. “Ah, perfect timing! Food’s just about ready,” Mom says, seeing me. 

I shake my head and rummage through the closet. “Sorry Mom, gotta take a rain check. It’s an emergency.”

“Eren Jaeger, so help me if I let you run amok again and at night no less-“

I look at her, pleading. “It’s Armin.” 

She freezes and a knowing glint rises into her pupils. “Oh, if that’s the case… promise me you’ll be back before 8. And wear gloves, it’s below freezing.” 

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks Mom!” I’m out the door before she can respond.

. . .

The bag from Walgreens flaps against my leg as I pedal. It’s way too cold out to be on a bike, but I’m in a hurry. I resist the urge to cover my ears and block out the chill and the rush of the wind. I wish I had worn my helmet. 

I ditch my bike at the edge of the forest behind the touchless car wash, hiding it in the same bushes as always. I run to the speck of light suspended in the branches. I knew it.

I reach the tree fort Armin and I built as kids. Well, my dad built it, but it’s ours. I climb up the ladder and poke my head in. Armin’s sitting there and his shoes are wet from mud and tears. “Hey.”

He jumps and inhales. “E-eren! Don’t scare me!” 

I shimmy in and sit across from him. “You scared me when you burst into the locker room earlier,” I counter. “I thought you were some pervert.”

He blushes. “I... I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry Eren… For all of it.” Armin looks like he’s about to start sobbing again. I reach out and touch his shoulder, handing him the Walgreens bag. He stares at me and I gesture for him to look inside.

It’s a box of chocolates. Armin takes a sharp breath. “It’s… no… are you saying?”

“You never gave me a chance to respond. You are my best friend, nothing’s going to change that. But I’m also gay. I mean, I hate to fit the stereotype, but I have a secret stash of Project Runway DVDs at home. More importantly, I’ve been thinking for a while if we could be more than just friends. How that would be a really nice… thing for us. And I’m not saying we need to go fast, but if you want to maybe try sometime…” I pick at a scab on my knee. “You get it, right, Armin?”

Silence fills the fort and for a moment I forget to breath. Then there’s something warm on my chest and it’s him, bawling and laughing and hugging and agreeing. “Eren, are you asking me to be your Valentine?”

I ruffle his hair. “Pretty sure you did first, bud. But yeah. Valentine, boyfriend, significant other, what have you,” I explain happily. 

Armin doesn’t say anything in response, but his hold on me is answer enough. We sit together, smiling and quiet, for a while longer. And it’s plenty.

OK, maybe Valentine’s Day for a popular, closeted, high school athlete doesn’t suck as much as I thought.


	2. Lips of Licorice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eren tries to be a better boyfriend, and Armin is a blushing dork. Thank God for summer break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the foot of the stairs/ With my fingers in your hair/ Baby this is it
> 
> \- "My First Kiss," 3OH!3 (feat. Ke$ha)

I hate being woken up early, especially on a weekend in July. I’m out of school, damn it, and if I want to sleep till noon so help me. But I guess there are exceptions. Like for a trip to the amusement park, or when Mom makes her famous pancakes, or when my kinda-sorta-boyfriend calls me. When I see his name on my cell phone’s caller ID, I panic and answer. “Oh my God Armin are you OK?”

“Eren, c-calm down. I’m fine. B-better than fine, in fact.”

“Then why are you stuttering? If nothing’s wrong, you shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Y-you noticed?” he asks.

I sit up in bed, still wrapped in sheets. “Of course I did.

I can hear Armin’s joyous grin down the line. “I don’t have to go to the library and t-tutor today. And Grandpa’s going to be out bowling with his friends from t-the senior center.”

I blink the dried crust from my eyes. “So you’re home alone?”

“Until 8, ye-yeah. Grandpa also failed to mention if I was allowed houseguests. In a court of law, his negligence to d-dictate this rule means that it is impossible to violate,” he chirps happily.

“In English, Armin.”

“There’s no rule, s-so I can’t break it,” he explains. “I keep forgetting you have the m-mentally capacities of a ten-year-old.”

“Ha ha,” I say flatly, yanking on some shorts. “But it’s good to hear you joking again. I don’t like when you’re uncomfortable.”

“E-eren...” I can sense, even from miles away, that he’s blushing. “So are you coming over or not?”

I search for my comb under my bed. “Give me twenty minutes. And have some food.” I hang up and grin.

. . .

I knock on Armin’s door exactly                 17 minutes later. He glances at his phone’s clock. “Y-you’re early.”

I shrug and welcome myself in, kicking off my sandals. “Quit being afraid. You’ve known me since elementary school; I don’t bite anymore.”

“It’s a g-good thing your dad had those connections with that therapy group, huh?” the blonde stammers behind me.

I whip my head around and glare. “Don’t mention him again. Ever.” Armin shivers and I pull my hair back with exhaustion. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, but… you know I don’t like talking about it. So… don’t bring it up again. Please.”

Armin wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “O-OK. Do you, um, want a snack?” We both walk into the kitchen, tiled floor squeaking under our feet.

I open the fridge door. “Well, it is lunchtime… Grilled cheese. The special Arlert way.” I toss him a package of cheddar.

He fumbles but manages to catch it. “We’re out of bacon bits… but we have tomato and honey mustard,” he says, pulling out a cutting board.

I walk behind him. “You didn’t stutter.” I rub his hair and Armin giggles. “Good job.”

“If you want, we can play some video games… or we could go out back and eat outside,” he offers.

“Video games, then outside. Don’t want bugs on my sandwich.” He nods and begins preparing food for us both. “Man, I’m lucky to have a boyfriend that’s willing to cook for me.”

His cheeks flush ruby. “Sh-shut up,” he mumbles. “Besides, are we even d-dating?”

I lean against the counter and frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I-I mean, ever since Valentine’s Day, when we c-confessed, we haven’t done much. Instead of high-fiving after school, w-we hug. You text me r-right before bed to wish me sweet dreams, but… that’s it. Have we even held hands yet?”

He’s right, of course. He always is. Our relationship… isn’t really a relationship. But I want it to be. I want to date him, to be a proper boyfriend. And I tell him as such. He responds with “how?”

I wait until he finishes making the sandwiches before I strike. Then I reach over and take his palm in mine. He gasps and looks at me. I smile and squeeze his fingers. “Better?”

He beams back. “B-better.”

. . .

I finish my meal a lot quicker than Armin. I resist the urge to wipe the spots of mustard on his chin. “Delectable as always, chef.”

Armin nibbles on his sandwich slowly. “Why do you eat so fast?”

“Athlete’s metabolism,” I explain. He nods, content with my answer. Today, it’s more I want to spend time hanging out with him, but I’m sure my appetite has something to do with it.

I start tapping my fingers on the table, waiting for Armin to finish. Eventually, he swallows the last bite and wipes his lips with his napkin. I sigh. “NOW can we play some video games?”

Armin rolls his eyes. “Impatient as ever, I see. OK, go boot up the console. I’m assuming you’ll turn on _Brawl_?”

“I call dibs on Ike,” I call as I head to the living room. I turn on the Wii and Armin sits down next to me. I stare at him for a few seconds.

“W-what? Do I have crumbs on my face?” He frantically paws at his cheeks.

I shake my head. “No, no, nothing… it’s just, you want me to be a better boyfriend. So, um… mind if I do something a bit… boyfriend-y?”

He sucks in his lower lip, but nods after a pause. Slowly and gingerly, I scooch over and pull him into my lap. “Comfy?” I ask. He trembles, but sinks into my embrace. “Good.” I look over his shoulder and pick up my controller. Our faces are really close, and if I wanted to I could count his eyelashes. Instead, I notice the little line that runs over the bridge of his nose. “What’s that?”

“Huh? I thought you s-said I didn’t have anything on my face!” Armin pauses the game and rubs his nose. “Is it gone?”

I frown. “No, it’s this line across your nose…”

He stops messing with his mug. “Oh, t-that? Remember when we used to sit in the tree behind the car wash?”

“The one that we later built the treehouse in? Yeah, I remember.”

“I fell out b-before that and broke my nose. It’s the scar from that you see,” Armin says quietly. “That’s why we built t-the tree fort. So I wouldn’t get hurt again. And t-this is why I doubt our relationship! You don’t know anything a-about me, even though we’ve been best f-friends even before we started dating!”

“That’s not true,” I correct. “I know plenty about you. I know things you’ve never even told me.”

He looks up at a crack on the ceiling. “P-prove it.”

“I know you really like that food the Pixar movie with the mice was named after. I know your favorite book is _To Kill a Mockingjay._ And I know that you should’ve skipped a few grades at some point, but the school decided not to because you would get destroyed in gym class with the bigger kids.”

We’re both silent for a few minutes. Eventually, Armin rubs his shoulder. “It’s _M-mockingbird,_ not _Mockingjay._ That’s from _The Hunger Games_ and you know it. A-and it is called ratatouille. As for you… you have a c-crippling addiction to _Diners, Drive-ins and Dives._ Despite bragging about it all of fifth grade, you have n-never actually completed _Super Mario Sunshine._ You once tried to b-beat up a truck driver for hitting on your mother,” he mumbles.

I blink repeatedly. “Jesus, I thought that I knew some secrets… how the heck did you figure all that out?”

“E-easy. Your DVR is full of Food Network programs, but your mom prefers the Cooking Channel. One time, when I was sleeping over, I woke up and played with your GameCube… the game that was in was _Sunshine,_ and t-the only save file was stuck on the Sandbird,” Armin replies. “M-Mikasa told me the last one.”

“First of all, you know that part is hard as balls. Secondly, I forgot you were a freaking genius. You really should’ve skipped fifth grade.”

Armin blushes. “M-maybe we are dating after all…”

I wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Never doubt my romantic capabilities,” I warn. “Oh yeah! I just remembered- there’s something I want to show you. I need to run home and get a few things, but meet me in your backyard when I’m done?”

“I-I guess,” Armin agrees. “Be quick.”

. . .

I return to his house carrying my soccer ball, some pipes, and my skateboard. I find him sitting on the back porch, digging through a package of Twizzlers.  Armin eyes my load quizzically. “I… I have no idea actually.”

I beam. “You’ll see.” I set the pipes up in a goal formation and place the ball in front of my board. “Ta-da! Skoccer!”

“Sk-skoccer? What the heck is that?” He scratches the back of his left wrist before grabbing another red rope of candy and leading it to his mouth.

“The new sport sensation that’s sweeping the nation- skoccer, aka soccer on skateboards!” I jump onto the board’s deck. “It’ll be a hit!’

“’Hit,’ yes,” he sighs, sweeping his bangs to the side. “That’s i-incredibly dangerous, Eren. And you’re not even wearing a helmet!”

I dismiss the comment with a hand gesture. “Never got hurt before. Seriously, I’ll be fine.”

But he won’t listen. Sweet, quiet Armin literally puts his foot down- he stomps with every word as he says “Wear a helmet, Eren!” Eventually, I give in and grab his bike helmet from his garage. It was kinda cute to see him all flustered, though…

Strapped in and safe, I put on my game face. “I’m gonna score, first try. Just watch,” I tell him. I kick off and nudge the ball with the tip of the board. It takes a few minutes, but the ball rolls into the net. “See? Not hurt at all. Now for real!”

A huge wad of red spit nearly lands in my eye. “’For real?’ Eren, that a-alone nearly gave me a h-heart attack! Don’t be an i-idiot!”

But I ignore him and reset my position before kicking off at full speed. The ball jumps across the grass, making a beeline to sports history. And as I’m about to join it in the goal, I briefly ponder why I didn’t pay more attention to Newton’s Laws of Motion.

I push myself up from the wreckage of pipes and grip tape. “Oww…” I groan, inspecting the damage. Armin’s at my side in an instant.

“Eren! Eren, are y-you alright?”

“Never better,” I answer, with as much sarcasm as I can muster. I can feel the breeze agitate the open skin on my right knee. My fingers tingle as dirt mixes with droplets of blood. There’s a metallic taste on my tongue seeping in through my parted lips. “How bad is it?”

He takes my face in his velvety hands. “You’ll l-live, but darn it… don’t do that again!” His arms fly around my shoulders. I gasp in both pain and pleasure.

Wincing, I push him back, saying, “don’t do that, that really hurts…”

In response, I get a well-deserved scoff. “Oh, and I s-suppose his royal imbecile would like a kiss to make him feel better?”

When we both figure out what Armin’s implied, our faces no doubt mirrored one another’s. The blonde boy begins to stammer and spout gibberish, his flesh’s hue putting the sweets in his hand in fear of being out Red #40-ed. But I stay silent as I reach up to cup his face.

My lips make contact with his and my head reels. His lips have a strawberry flavor that rivals his snack. I can smell the Tide detergent and his generic acne medicine and he must use Chap-Stick because there is no way humans have mouths that feel like flannel on their own. Even after they leave I still feel his forehead against mine. I laugh quietly. “Hey, Armin…”

“I swear, if y-you say ‘let me try s-skoccer again…’”

I rub his back in a circular motion, closing my eyes and listening to his gentle breathing. “I think we’re officially boyfriends now.”

Armin grabs my free hand and shows it to me, a tear dripping from the corner of his eye. “W-we already were.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Thank you all for the kudos, it means a lot to me.


	3. Said and Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that this is about dorky boyfriends being dorky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it feels like I've been rescued/ I've been set free/ I am hypnotized/ By your destiny
> 
> -Selena Gomez and the Scene, "Love You Like a Love Song"

So imagine, if you will, a gay junior in high school with a secret boyfriend and a sexuality only known by his sister. Then give him really dark brown hair, green-gold eyes, and the body of an athlete. If that image does not resemble me, then please get your brain checked. 

Anyway, that secret boyfriend, all his blushing and dorky and perfectly adorable five feet, walks up to the gay junior between third and fourth periods in the middle of a crowded hallway and invites him to a sleepover. 

Finally, imagine that this isn’t pretend, that this is real, and this experience is making me choke on my gum. 

Swallowing, I stare at Armin. “Wh-what?’

“I asked if you wanted to sleep over at my house on Friday…” he repeats slowly.

I glance around, making sure no one’s watching, then lean down by his ear. “You don’t mean, like, doing THAT, right?” I question.

“No- oh…” His eyes widen with horrible realization. “N-no! Not y-yet! E-eren, get your m-mind out of t-the gutter!” 

“Sorry, Armin. Didn’t mean to freak you out. As for the sleepover though?” I shut my locker with a satisfying clang. “Can’t wait.”

. . .

The next three days speed by at the rate of bread rising. Around me, the usual hubbub of school cradles me. Jean’s being a jerk, Marco seems to be gaining freckles, Mikasa is hesitant to remove her scarf to .adhere to new dress codes. I’m lucky there isn’t any soccer practice this time of year, because my thoughts are too occupied to worry about a ball hurtling at your face or crotch. 

And then it’s a cold October evening and I’m standing on the dried leaf covered front stoop of Armin’s house. He opens the door with a smile. “Eren,” he says in that kinda shy way I adore. It talks all my remaining self-control to not push him into the wall and kiss him in the hallway. Instead, I settle for a hug that I’m sure broke a few of his ribs. His hair smells like vanilla. “You’ve been baking cookies,” I sigh joyfully. I can feel his nod on my shoulder. 

He hesitantly takes my hand and I nearly keel over. “Shut the d-door, take off your shoes, you know the drill,” he responds. “I need some help s-setting up.”

I follow him into the living room, where I see a pile of pillows, blankets galore in mismatched patterns, some chairs I recognize from the dining room table, the cushions off the couch. I raise my eyebrow. “Are you suggesting-“

“A pillow fort.” There’s a mischievous glint that meets my gaze. “I-I figured we could outdo the ones we made as kids… you remember those?”

Oh boy, did I. Half-assed lean-tos that were under threat of collapsing in on themselves from someone sneezing down the street. I’m pretty sure Jenga blocks were more structurally sound. Then again, it’s hard to be a master architect when you’ve barely grasped tying your own shoes. I sling my arm around Armin’s shoulder. “It’ll be the greatest pillow fort ever… but it’ll need more than just this.” I lead him into the garage. “Where do you keep the Christmas lights?”

“Um, er… over h-here, I think…” He pulls out a large box labeled “XMAS.” “Do you need o-ornaments too?”

“For God’s sake, Armin,” I say tiredly, “don’t be nervous. I haven’t caused an electrical fire since I was twelve.” Gently, I kiss the top of his head. His leg begins to jitter and I chuckle. “I’m also your boyfriend, so get used to affection.”

His head bobs and he looks up at me before pecking my jaw for an instant. I mock swooning and nearly trip over an orange bin that I recall holds pumpkin decorations. Armin laughs and opens the first box. “What c-color?” 

I pull out a couple of strands that are plain white. “These’ll do. Now come on, we have a construction project to start.” 

. . .

We don’t hit our first major roadblock until about nine thirty. The structure is completed, as is the wiring, and all that is left was interior decorating- something neither of us, despite stereotype, are good at. Armin’s doing his best to stifle a yawn, but the boy’s a piece of living saran wrap. I suggest to him we change into our pajamas, and he’s all too willing to agree. 

For me, I simply peel off my jeans and hang out in my green hoodie and boxers, perfectly content to expose my slightly tan limbs. I sit outside our fort for about ten minutes, wondering what the delay is. It’s because my boyfriend and host cooked something up in that magically mysterious noggin of his. As usual. “Holy balls,” I mouth at the sight of him.

Like me, he’s dressed in shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, although he seems much more self-conscious about the skin being visible. There’s an overly large white sweater draping from his tiny shoulders, nearly slipping off. The butterfly pattern on his socks are the exact same shade as the- oh God, they’re nearly daisy dukes- pants cladding his calves. He has a small paper bag in his hand, and a shy look of seduction.

I’m drooling. This boy is caring, intelligent, and sexy. How did I get so lucky? 

I stand up and stride over to him, taking his shoulders forcefully. “You. Look. Amazing.” I press my forehead to his. “And that deserves something.” I start to close the few inches between us, the air is buzzing, his nose brushes my upper lip and he exhales and-

“YOWCH!” I shout, jerking my knee up into Armin’s belly. He falls to the floor, yelping with agony. Then I’m tackled to the ground too, my legs on fire. 

“B-Bilbo! Bad boy!” Armin struggles to get his wild pooch under control. “Stop it! You know not to attack people’s legs!” 

I wince as I sit up. “Now I remember why we wear pants at your house…” I scan the attacked appendages. Most of the scratches are superficial, but a few have drawn blood. I grimace.

Armin sighs. “I was going to go get his claws t-trimmed tomorrow… I’m so sorry, Eren…” He’s in tears. It’s only fair though, as his legs are in just as bad shape as mine. 

“Is everything alright in here?” an older voice calls. I turn to find Mr. Arlert in the doorway. I nod.

“I-I’m ok, grandpa… Sorry for worrying you…” Armin says quietly between sobs. The white-haired man comes over and takes the black-and-white mutt from his grandson. 

“I’ll take this rascal for the night. You boys enjoy yourself,” he says, giving me a knowing glance. I frown but he’s silent as he leaves. I return my attention to the crying high school student, who is still crying. 

“It’s ok, Armin. C’mon, let’s get some bandages on these. Don’t want them getting infected.” I pull a pack of Band-Aids from my duffel bag. My boyfriend looks at me quizzically. “Soccer practice,” I explain. “It’s my sports bag. Go ahead, take a whiff.”

The blond responds with a weak laugh. “I’ll pass…” 

I carefully lay the adhesive strips over each of his open wounds, leaving the scratches to heal on their own. Before I can start on myself, though, he takes the box and gives me the same treatment. Before laying the finally bandage, though, he stares at me. “Y-you want me to kiss it to make it feel better?”

I smirk as our lips collide. 

. . .

Eventually oxygen demands our separation, and Armin practically gallops into the kitchen, leaving a tomato-tinged shadow of himself in my lap. I chuckle and plug in my laptop, setting it up inside the fort. If he’s doing what I hope he’s doing, we’ll need some entertainment. 

Sure enough, he returns with a platter of popcorn, chocolate chip cookies, and Pepsi. We carefully maneuver the food in and Armin crawls in on all fours. I hold up some DVDs and ask, “So the awesomeness that is The Amazing Spider-Man or the guilty pleasure known as Mean Girls?” 

He settles next to me, clutching that same paper bag from earlier with an aura of secrecy. “No so-bad-it’s-good The Room?” 

I shake my head. “We can do that movie in our sleep, Armin. We need to branch out our cinematic repertoire,” I scoff.

He looks at me, pupils flickering with pain. “You’re tearing me apart, Lisa!” 

We break into a fit of giggles, but at some point I see the Marvel logo flash on the screen. I shrug, satisfied. Armin is not. “I wanted Mean Girls…”

I roll my eyes and give him a noogie. “Boo, you whore.” That unleashes another bout of laughter. 

The movie plays for a while longer, and I notice that Armin is fidgeting. “What’s wrong?” I question him.

He hands me the bag wordlessly and I peer inside. Clips, stretch bands, bows… I frown. “What do you…? Huh?”

His hand overlaps mine and our gazes meet. “D-do you mind… making me pretty?” Droplets of salty tears well up in the corners of his eyes. 

“Why do you… You know what, I don’t care. You already look great to begin with but if you want me to play hairstylist, I will. Thank God I’ve had practice on Mikasa.” 

His smile is genuine and warms me to my toes. “Thank you, Eren… not many boyfriends would be this understanding.” 

I sit him in my lap and run a brush through the silky blond strands. “That’s a real pity. Told you humanity is in a decline.” I pull the hair into two even bunches and begin braiding the right. 

“You’re really good at this,” Armin comments. I shrug. “All that RuPaul you watch?”

I blush and choke on my popcorn. “Sh-shut up! You know I much prefer What Not to Wear!” Behind us, Peter is trying to ask Gwen out. It reminds me of when Armin first confessed to me.

Well, maybe confess isn’t the right word. I mean, neither of us have said… it, yet. Even though it’s been eight months. Is that rushing things? I honestly have no clue. I guess when the time is right… 

I place the barrettes in and begin working on the left. As my fingers twist and turn, I start wondering if Armin does. You know, like me like me. I feel like such a dork saying it like that. But I’m curious because… I think I do. I probably always have. It’s just that in this moment, with everything peaceful and happy and perfect, I feel like I can say it and mean it. 

I finish styling his hair and give him a mirror. “What do you think?”

He blushes at his reflection. “Thank you, Eren… Thank you so much…” He leans his cheek against mine, and I wrap my arm around his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand. 

I swallow. Best to make sure he’s secure before I probably implode his brain.

“Armin…” I whisper. He looks at me questioningly. “I… I love you.” 

The only noise is that of Spider-Man fighting the Lizard and my pulse pounding in my throat. I’m not sure if Armin is even breathing. His mouth starts to move soundlessly, and yet I can hear him clearly. “Are you certain?”

I nod, not trusting my voice either. Eventually I croak out, “one hundred percent. I’m in love with you.” 

Suddenly my sweatshirt is soggy and my lips are swollen. I can’t understand a word of what Armin is shouting into the fabric of my shoulder but I do manage to make out “me too… oh God Eren I love you too…” 

It’s at about that point I start laughing like a loon. “Oh my God! Armin you have any idea how ridiculous we must look like by now? You’re sobbing like you’re at a funeral and I sound like I’m an escaped asylum patient!” I bellow. There’s a chuckle from my arms and I can’t really explain how but we were laying down, Armin in my arms, movie forgotten. 

He reaches up and cups my face. “Why did you say it now…”

“Well, um, cuz I do. Besides, it’s only fair. You’re the one who said you liked me, and our first kiss was kind of… mutual. I figured I should man up and be the one to take the next step. After all, I’m the more masculine one in this relationship,” I explain clumsily. 

He howls and gasps. “You really are a simple mind…”

I scowl, hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, love,” he coos, kissing my lips. And that’s more than enough to forgive him.

. . .

When Mr. Arlert wakes us the next morning, we’re tangled in a nest of limbs and blankets. Apparently our pillow fort wasn’t as structurally sound as we had hoped.

Armin looks at his grandfather guiltily. “I was going t-to tell you… Please don’t be mad Grandpa…” 

In response, the old man leans down and pats his grandson on the head. “I’ve had my suspicions, boy, and I’m glad it’s with someone like Eren. Lord knows what would’ve happened if you had started dating that other boy you had a crush on. What was his name? John?” 

I stare at my boyfriend with daggers and firearms in my pupils. “You had a crush on Kirschtein?”

“I-In middle school! Eren you know I love you!” He clamps his mouth shut with his hands after this declaration. Mr. Arlert just snickers and I do as well, but I quickly soften. 

I place a kiss on his brilliant blond brain. “I know. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to the real-life Bilbo Baggins, the happiest, sheddiest, and scratchiest puppy in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first in a six-chapter two-part Eremin epic that's just IDK. It started out as a oneshot and it spiraled from there. If you want more eremin and updates, check my tumblr (n00dl3gal).


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